


Eventually

by nagi_schwarz



Series: The Oppenheimer Effect [21]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate: Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, King of the World."</p><p>In which JD teaches Rodney basic gun safety and how to shoot, and Rodney is no Kate Winslet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eventually

Rodney knew, intellectually, that John and all of his housemates had been soldiers. They all had screaming nightmares and PTSD and scars and injuries to prove their time in battle. When John or Evan were at the mountain, all the soldiers called them Major, which was weird after hearing students calling them Mister all day. But John and Evan and Cam and JD were all so goofy, fighting over video games, throwing food at each other in the kitchen, having rousing debates about the relative importance of the subjects they taught. Cam would help his students pick out their first cars, had kids over on the weekend all the time so they could fix up the clunkers they’d bought. And all four men made a point of going to their students’ important events, like plays and games and dance recitals and art shows. They were like proud fathers, every single one of them. (And it made Rodney sad to know that for some of those kids, these high school teachers were the closest to proud fathers they’d ever have.)  
  
So when Rodney strolled into the kitchen, Oppie riding on his shoulders, and found all four men sitting at the kitchen table with guns spread out all around them, he came up short. He felt like he’d just walked into the den of a Colombian drug lord.  
  
“Hey, what’s going on here?”  
  
“Just a cleaning party,” John said.  
  
“We go to the range at least once a month, make sure we’re not getting rusty. It was a bitch, getting re-certified at my new height.” Cam had a cloth spread out in front of him and was scrubbing at a tiny piece of metal with a blackened toothbrush.  
  
“We’ll be done in a jiff,” Evan said, “if you and Oppie want to hang out. I baked some cookies for my class today - and I set some aside for us. They’re in the fridge. Citrus-free. If you’re interested.”  
  
Rodney was always interested in the things Evan baked. There was a reason everyone in that house went running every morning, and it was because they’d all die of heart attacks from all the baking Evan did if they didn’t.  
  
“You go every month?” he asked.  
  
“Practice makes perfect,” Cam said.  
  
“And we may or may not bet chores on the outcomes of marksmanship competitions,” John added. He eyed Rodney. “Do you know how to shoot?”  
  
“No. I’m not gate-rated. Nor do I want to be. If I ever have to go through the gate, it’s with a platoon of marines to watch out for me. Or Sam Carter. Same thing.” Rodney wandered over to the fridge for cookies. Oppie abandoned him and went to settle himself across JD’s shoulders.  
  
“Since you’re over here so often,” Evan said, “you should learn basic firearm safety.”  
  
Cam said, with deliberate casualness, “JD, why don’t you teach him?”  
  
JD’s hands stilled. Evan shot Cam a dirty look, but Cam continued scrubbing away at a piece of his gun.  
  
JD cleared his throat. “Sure. Come sit next to me. Know how a gun works?”  
  
“Point and shoot?” Rodney pulled up a chair beside JD. John and Evan scooted their chairs aside to make room for him.  
  
“I meant the mechanics. Single action versus double action, automatic versus semi-automatic. Lever action versus bolt action versus pump action,” JD said.  
  
Rodney blinked. He’d heard the marines bandy those terms about before, but they were basically meaningless to him.  
  
“You’re an engineer. You’ll get it,” JD said. “Here, let’s start with the parts of a gun.”  
  
JD showed Rodney every single gun the men owned between them, made sure Rodney understood how all of them worked. He showed Rodney how to clean them, which parts needed scrubbed, which parts needed oiled, and which parts needed greased. Once all of the guns were assembled, JD reviewed the rules of gun safety. Treat every gun like it’s loaded. Never point it at anything you aren’t willing to destroy. Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot.  
  
Then JD had Rodney pick up every single gun, showed him how to wrap his hands around it, and told him to choose which one felt best.  
  
“Why?” Rodney asked.

“Because I’m going to teach you how to shoot, and you shoot best with a gun you’re comfortable with.”  
  
“But I’m not on a gate team.”  
  
“Foothold situation,” JD said. “Those require all hands on deck. If you don’t come home from a foothold situation, we’ll have to keep your cat, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”  
  
Oppie, still sprawled across JD’s shoulders, meowed.  
  
“Traitor,” Rodney said.  
  
Oppie flicked his tail.  
  
“Why can’t John teach me to shoot?” Rodney asked.  
  
“Please,” JD said. “You’d never get anywhere with John all pressed up against you, trying to fix your form. Me, on the other hand…”  
  
“Right.”  
  
That was how, a week later, Rodney ended up at the shooting range with all four men. Cam and Evan were in another booth, testing out a new rifle set-up for Cam, who needed a bench rest.  
  
John was crowded into the same booth as JD and Rodney, but he was hanging back and letting JD do all the teaching.  
  
Rodney knew JD liked him better than Jack O’Neill ever would, but he still wasn’t looking forward to having JD barking at him like an angry drill sergeant. He was less prepared for the way JD curled behind him, hands on his hips, his shoulders, correcting his stance.  
  
“Truth is, the trick to good shooting is to point at what you want to hit and not screw it up before you squeeze the trigger.” JD had his hands on Rodney's waist, angling him just so.  
  
Rodney cleared his throat, nerves jangling. “Is this the part where you yell that you’re the king of the world?”  
  
“You’re no Kate Winslet,” JD said, “but I am at least as good looking as that Leonardo person. Now seriously, the most important thing to do is not yank on the trigger too hard. That makes the gun jerk. Your stance and grip will help keep the gun steady, but your gun should be pointing back at the target when the shot is done. You ready? Ears on, Sheppard?”  
  
“Ears on,” John said.  
  
Rodney pulled on his earmuffs.  
  
JD shouted to be heard through their muffling effect. “Now, tighten your finger on the trigger slowly.”  
  
Rodney fired.  
  
When he opened his eyes - he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them - there was a neat hole near the center of the target.  
  
“Huhn. I’m a good shot.”  
  
“Beginner’s luck,” JD muttered. “Where’s your gun? Why is it aimed at the floor? Follow-through, McKay. Back on the target after every shot.”  
  
“Sorry.” Rodney aimed his gun properly again.  
  
At the end of the day, Rodney was exhausted. He could shoot well, but he took forever between every shot, mentally checking his stance, his grip, making sure his breathing was correct (“Squeeze the trigger when you exhale, McKay”).  
  
Afterwards, they went out for pizza and beer to celebrate Rodney’s success.  
  
“Be grateful,” John said, sliding into the back of the van beside Rodney. “He was a hell of a lot nicer than any of our trainers at basic were.”  
  
JD and Cam were cuddled together on the middle seat, JD tucked against Cam’s side while Evan drove, acting as chauffeur.  
  
“Will he be all right?” Rodney asked in a low voice.  
  
“Eventually, we all will be.”


End file.
